I Know You're Not Really There
by Celeste Goodchild
Summary: Ohtori produces a lot of fairytales, most of them twisted. Tokiko's last visit to the Academy inspires one with an ending she would have preferred, however.


This is only my fifth "Utena" fic, and I do hope I am improving. This narrative is slightly less pointless than my usual fare, but I still have the same general theme of most of my stories – black roses. This time, I veer away from Mikage and Mamiya themselves and turn to the third, the one I haven't spoken of properly but the one who still walks besides the others always.

As always, no copyright infringement is intended. If I had my way I'd be making my own stories, but my original characters were evicted several months ago and they haven't forgiven me enough yet to accept my sincere apologies and come home. So here's to Chida Tokiko. Now there's a fic you don't see every day.

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I can't say I didn't know about it – but I don't remember taking any part in it – I think my freedom cost me dearly – but I don't remember selling my soul so cheaply.

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-- A Distant Cry (from _Serial Experiments Lain_)

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I Know You're Not Really There

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As I closed the book he looked up at me with his bright green eyes – not at all dulled yet by impending sleep! – and smiled. "Grandma, may I have another?"

Smiling softly, I leaned down to brush his hair back from his forehead, to plant a dry kiss on his skin. "Now, Satoshi-chan, you know that you have to go to sleep now. I've kept you up long enough reading you this story right until the end, so you must go to sleep now." I gave him another smile, leaning down this time to kiss one ruddy cheek. "Your mother won't be pleased to know you're up this late, after all! You don't want to get your grandmother into trouble now, do you?"

He pouted, babyish face made strangely more endearing by the motion. "But you were away last weekend, and I couldn't stay! Can't you make up for it now with one more story?"

Ah, emotional blackmail; is there truly any better way to get to the heart of the matter? Or to somebody's heart alone? "Darling, you know that's not how it works…and if I keep you up late tonight, you won't be able to get up in the morning early enough so we can go to the park like you wanted."

"The ducks will still be there for us to feed even if we are later than normal," he told me, his tone rather pragmatic for that of a four year old child. "Please? One more story?"

I sighed, the sound good-natured. I was in fact the more tired of the pair of us; even though my visit had been a week ago that night, the emotional strain had not quite left my mind, my heart, or my body. That was one of the reasons why I went there so rarely, my desire to place flowers on my brother's grave notwithstanding.

"…Satoshi-chan, I don't suppose it would help to explain to you that your grandmother is absolutely exhausted and would like to go to bed herself, would it?"

He looked absolutely flabbergasted, lovely emerald eyes very wide. "But…you're a grown-up!"

I had to laugh at that, even though he pouted in that adorable way children have almost immediately. I did feel for him truly, but my amusement won out. Children, after all, hate to be patronised by adults…it's just truly a pity that they don't realise how beautiful they are when they complain about it.

"Grown-ups get tired too, sweetheart. Especially old ones like your grandmother."

"You're not so old," he told me helpfully, dimpling prettily in a manner that made my heart ache. I've always been told that children tend to resemble those of their grandparents' generation than those of their parents' – I don't remember who told me; I suppose it was my husband, but somehow…it may have been _him_ – but I never believed it until Satoshi had been born. His too-large eyes, mop of unruly hair (the colour was all wrong but the texture and thickness was the same), fair, easily-freckled skin…they were an echo from long ago, an echo I had wished that earth would release instead of holding for eternity.

"Oh, I'm not so old, am I?" Amused by this revelation of sorts, I set about straightening his covers though I did not raise myself from where I sat on the edge of his bed. He also did not move, did not snuggle down into the covers as he usually did when I went to tuck him in. I could see this issue about going to sleep now was not going to be resolved particularly quickly. 

"Nope," he said as he watched me carefully. Yes, it was going to be a difficult task, getting this one to sleep tonight. "Daddy's mummy and daddy are much older than you are!"

This was no revelation, on the other hand; my daughter's husband was like my own, a decade older than herself. Both of us had married elder, wealthy men; my husband was a surgeon of no small merit while Yumiko's husband was the heir to a prosperous family business. "Yes, they are…and I bet you don't keep them up all night with demands for extra stories young man…or do you?"

"I don't!" he claimed in that innocent tone only a very young child ever seems to master. "Grandma Takasugi wouldn't ever let me stay up so late, but…" Once again those puppy eyes blinked up at me in that begging tone. "You love to tell stories, Grandma Yamoda. Can't you tell me another?"

Flattery tends to get a child everywhere. "…Satoshi-chan, we've read all the books I have here for you…several times, in fact."

"…please? One more story?" Ah, why do children have to be so good at looking so pitiable when they just want a bedtime story to facilitate staying up long past their bedtime? And why did this particular child have to remind me so greatly of my own brother, also too fond of staying up late when he was four and I was sixteen, asking me in that darling little voice for "just one more story"…?

"You could read me 'Peter Pan,'" he said helpfully as I tried to focus on the present rather than the much hazier past. 

"I think that one is a little long, Satoshi-chan, though we could start it another night, if you like. Tonight, however, I think we should really just call it a night! Even if you're still bright-eyed and bushy tailed, my old bones need some rest before they start creaking like your grandfather's rocking chair."

Satoshi seemed to find this funny; I didn't blame him, because I thought it amusing myself. My husband was still active and fit, preferring to go for long walks with his beloved golden retriever in the evenings instead of sitting in a rocking chair with pipe and slippers, newspaper in hand. "Your bones can't really creak, grandma!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I told him, rather more wearily than I actually intended. "I'm sorry we missed storytime last week, but I really am very tired."

He frowned then, his brow puckering into a childish set of lines. "Why did you go then, Grandma Yamoda? You know I always come over that weekend…" 

Hell hath no fury like a grandchild scorned, perhaps. "I had to go, sweetheart." I tried to keep the heaviness of my feelings out of my voice, but I think he felt it anyway. Though some people never seem to realise it, I learned a long time ago from my younger brother that children are very, very perceptive creatures. In fact, an adult probably never has the degree of perception that they had unconsciously as children ever again. After all, a child has no experience to call on; intuition is all they have to guide them when the adults will not. 

"Where?" My tone was bothering him. I knew it.

"To a school."

"You're too old to go to school!"

It was difficult to see if my state of mind was bothering him, or if it was just that he could no correlate his grandmother with a school. That wouldn't have been unusual, after all; my husband was a surgeon of high reputation and status, lecturing at a leading medical school as an associate professor as well as practising at one of the largest hospitals in the country. I myself had nothing to do with education, not anymore. I rarely even went to the university where my husband spent much of his time. I instead stayed secure in my job as an editor at a fashionable woman's magazine, trying my damndest to forget the days when I had been something of an academic myself.

It was something of an odd switch – a project manager moving into pseudo-journalism – but anything to forget those days was something I held onto very, very fast.

"…I only went to visit somebody there," I said softly. I did not wish to continue the conversation. Very few people in my family knew about my brother and his untimely death some thirty-three years beforehand, let alone my four-year-old nephew. I had only told my husband three years after our marriage, when he wondered why I had cried so profusely at my daughter's second birthday. I had unthinkingly blurted out that Yumiko, babyish features still so androgynous, reminded me too much of Mamiya, and from there, I was lost.

Yumiko herself had not known of Mamiya until she had discovered his picture hidden in its silver frame beneath folders in my desk while looking for a stapler last year. Curious, she asked me who I posed with in the black and white photo; as she had recognised me immediately it was not as if I could bluff her off. She was startled – and hurt, I think – to hear of his existence, and of his death. In fact, she had asked to join me on my annual pilgrimage to his grave – only to the grave, never to the Academy itself, except for this year – and had assuredly been hurt by my refusal.

But I will not bring any more members of my family into the parlour. Even if I must be a fly, I need not have my family encounter the spider. The web is wide enough to allow myself passage, but I know in my heart of hearts that others will not be so fortunate. 

"…all right, Satoshi-chan." I interrupted him before he could speak again. "Perhaps a story. But…I will have to make one up for you?"

"Can't you tell me the story about the Clockwork Professor?"

Startled, I could only stare at him dumbly.

"…please, Grandma?"

In some ways, it was like he was reading my mind. You see, it is natural for me to think of Nemuro himself when I remember my brother. However, I had not truly expected Satoshi to remember the story from several weeks ago. I had once again run out of stories to read before the end of storytime, and he had asked for another. I had started a story about a clockwork professor looking for the heart he had lost in his books, at the time believing it was simply because Satoshi liked the peculiar English film "The Wizard Of Oz." He had always expressed an interest in the tin-man with his missing heart and empathy. It wasn't until I was halfway through the tale that it occurred to me that it was not the story of the Tin-Man that I was rewriting, it was the story of Professor Nemuro himself.

When I think of Mamiya I think of Nemuro. This is an undeniable fact, and not an entirely comfortable one either. The simple fact is that the story of my brother's death has far too much to do with the entrance to and subsequent exit of the young professor from our lives. Which is not to say I have ever mentioned him by name to the two I have told about my brother. My husband and my daughter know that Mamiya died of acute lymphoblastic leukaemia and not much else.

But to me…in my own mind, I can not separate the two. And I wonder. Oh…I did have my suspicions about the relationship Nemuro shared with my younger brother. It would be unfair to say that I suspected him of anything…untoward, because that is not it. But there was something odd about the relationship they had. Mamiya's part in it was harder to read than Nemuro's, which does not surprise me. Mamiya was a very mature boy for his age, to be honest about it. Nemuro himself was emotionally crippled; he could not express himself for he did not even know exactly what he wanted. 

I myself did not know that he thought that he loved me. Even with Mamiya's subtle hints, subtle pushes at getting the two of us to "notice" each other, I never had enough to see it. And yet, in retrospect, even though Nemuro could not express such things easily he did so unconsciously…and just as unconsciously, I ignored him. 

I also never understood what he felt towards Mamiya, and I wonder if of the three of us, Mamiya was truly the only one who did understand what was passing between the little triad the three of us made. 

There was always a faint sadness in his eyes when he spoke with Nemuro; all these years later I sometimes translate it to a faint longing, though I can not be sure of such a thing. Mamiya was a lonely boy, of course; he did have friends among his peers but they were awkward friendships. It wasn't simply his intellectual ability that set him apart; at Ohtori such things were not that unusual, and they are perhaps still almost commonplace today. What isolated him was his impending death, and we all understood that…Mamiya most of all. 

I myself never treated him as if he was going to die, which gave us a relatively normal relationship. His friends were often uncomfortable around him for they felt that they had to censor their speech lest a stray phrase or word upset Mamiya. Reminded him of his "differences," so to speak. I myself understood perfectly well that Mamiya was mature enough to cope with such things; it was me who couldn't deal with the thought of my brother dying. In the end, he coped with the situation much better than anyone around him ever did. 

The only other person who ever felt comfortable around Mamiya was Professor Nemuro, the man whose memory I can not separate from that of my younger brother. 

It is that fact of that ease of company that I attribute my thoughts of Mamiya's…affection to. Professor Nemuro was the only other person he knew who did not avoid his gaze when he tried to meet theirs, the only person who could speak of his illness and not dodge the subject entirely. Even though Nemuro's focus was the same as mine – that Mamiya's death was not going to occur at all – Mamiya appreciated that he could speak of it at all. Though Mamiya himself had long since accepted the inevitability of his death, he did find it painful to speak of it with a person who did not believe in it themselves. A person like me.

I think it was just a relief to find someone outside his family who would acknowledge it at all, actually.

I don't believe that Mamiya ever truly believed that we were going to save him the way we promised that we would. Nemuro himself commented to me once that Mamiya had insinuated to him that he didn't even want to live beyond what he had been assigned by whatever powers had granted him this life as it was. He did not go into any details – I gathered the impression that it hurt him to speak of it, which was my own feeling on the subject – but it bothered me later. After I lost contact with Nemuro. I still remember the fire, you see, and the fact that he set it. But Nemuro vanished without a trace after that fire, though it didn't matter. No blame was ever laid because there was nothing to be blamed for. 

But Nemuro and Mamiya…I did not often see them together, but there was an oddity about the way they interacted. I would sometimes come across them playing chess together, or reading quietly some book in tandem. Those were the oddest scenes, I think; I would walk into the glasshouse to find they had pulled two of the spindly chairs together so that they sat thigh to thigh, Nemuro's coat slung across the table before them. They would both be hunched over a book they held over the arms of the chairs, heads so close as they read the text together that they very nearly touched. I gathered from Mamiya later that they were reading the texts and discussing the principles and ideas within as they came up.

The way Mamiya spoke of Nemuro was slightly strange. There was usually a faintly faraway look in his green eyes, and he often bit his lip slightly. It always bothered me that whatever Mamiya did feel for Nemuro, he obviously did not feel that he could speak with me about it. That is another of the reasons why I can not separate my memories of the two of them. There was a bond there that I did not see clearly at the time, nor do I see it any better now. 

I wish I did. It might make the act of visiting his grave every year that little bit easier…and it would give my mind calm about the terrible thing that I thought I saw this last time.

…wherever I thought Nemuro had gone in those days after the fire, I had always assumed it was far away from Ohtori Academy. It never occurred to me that he could have stayed. Or that he may not have changed at all…it's so _unfair_!

"…once upon a time, there was a grand and marvellous school. It was filled with many bright and smart children of all ages, from kindergarten to senior high school. They all came to the school because they were so enthusiastic--"

"What does enthusiastic mean, Grandma?"

"…being enthusiastic is being very happy to do something. Like being enthusiastic about swimming means you like to do it a lot, and do well at it."

"…okay. So, I am…enthusiastic about Ikebana?"

I shuddered slightly. "Yes, Satoshi-chan…you are enthusiastic about flowers. But the children were so happy to be there. Their hearts were always light and their spirits free as their laughter echoed through the halls, their smiles lighting up all the rooms they entered.

"Not everyone was so pleased to be at the school, however. While most of the teachers liked their jobs and enjoyed giving the children lessons on all that they wished to know, there was one man who was…troubled."

"The Clockwork Professor."

I sighed. "Very good. Yes, the Clockwork Professor was an unhappy man. Even though he was very smart and had a good job that he was also very good at, it did not actually make him happy. He would go to work every day at the school and work with the boys who were his students, but every night he would come home and stare at the sky. He would sometimes count the stars. But even doing this did not make him happy. There was nothing that made him happy, and so he lived his life like a clockwork toy."

"Somebody wound him up every morning and he worked until he ran out, right?"

I sighed; I was wishing that I had never brought this story up. I wondered indeed why on earth I had. Perhaps some memories simply can not be escaped, and our subconscious knows that far better than our conscious minds ever could. 

"Something like that, yes. And so, the Clockwork Professor worked everyday and never found any happiness in that. It was all about getting the job done and nothing more.

"However, things changed on the day that he met a new person. This new person surprised him in so many ways that his brain spun around in circles. She walked into his office when he was working, and when he looked at her, it was as if he completely forgot about everything he had to do."

"…is that what it is to fall in love, grandma?"

I had to close my eyes in pain at that innocent question. Oh, how can a child _know_ so very much? And yet it makes sense, for Mamiya was as sharp as Satoshi is, though I never gave him full credit for that until after he died. Then again, it may not be merely inherent intelligence that gives him his insight…I have read him too many fairytales. And what are fairytales in the end, anyway?

Stories of princes and princesses and love never ending. That is what they are.

"Something like that, Satoshi-chan," I told him very softly. "The Clockwork Professor did fall in love with the woman I will call Neesan, but it wasn't as fast as that. No, the first thing he felt when he met her was nothing more than hope."

"Hope?"

"…he felt that when he saw her, that there was something more for him than working and being wound up everyday only to run down by nightfall. He thought maybe that if he knew her, he wouldn't need to be wound up anymore, that he could keep on going."

"Like a battery?" he asked, and I had to laugh at the image he brought up next. "Like the Energiser bunny, I mean?"

American commercials are amusing things. "Yes, I suppose in a way you could say the Clockwork Professor hoped that Neesan would be his battery." I knew, however, that this was not strictly so. And yet I could see no real way of explaining to Satoshi the concept of a perpetual motion machine. Nor would I be able to explain why Nemuro wanted to be one when his physics and mathematical training assured him over and over and over again that such a thing was universally impossible. 

"Did Neesan want to be his battery?"

Ah, cut to the quick by a child's words yet again. "Well, Neesan didn't really know at the time what the Clockwork Professor thought about her. When she first met him she saw a sad man with sad eyes and she wondered what could make him like that. It hurt her heart to see him like that, and Neesan thought that her heart hurt enough already. Do you remember why Neesan was so sad sometimes, Satoshi-chan?"

"Because of Otouto," he replied almost immediately.

For one dreadful second I thought that I might actually cry, but luckily I managed to wrest back control of my emotions from my unstable heart before the tears came. "Yes, Neesan was sad sometimes – so sad she would cry herself to sleep – because her Otouto was so ill. It was because of Otouto that she came to the school where the Clockwork Professor worked. She wanted to find a way to make Otouto better, and because all the people at the school were so smart and clever, Neesan thought maybe they would help her."

"But what did she think of the Clockwork Professor?" he insisted in that childlike voice yet again.

I sighed, exhaling the held breath slowly and carefully. "Neesan wondered why he was so…far away from everyone else. Why he wouldn't talk to people, and why he would always prefer to stay with his calculations and his books. He didn't like to have lunch or tea with anyone else. He was always by himself, and because of that, she was worried about him."

"Because Neesan was a nice person, right, grandma?"

My eyes burned. "Yes, it was because she was a nice person. She liked to go to his office and take with her tea, to talk to him during their breaks. She liked to invite him to sit with her when they had lunch in the same cafeteria. She liked to stop him in the hallways to talk to him when he would otherwise walk right on by. Somehow she could forget the sadness she felt about Otouto's sickness when she was nice to the Clockwork Professor simply because it was the right thing to do."

"Like playing with a puppy when it looks lonely?" asked Satoshi, looking ever so slightly confused. 

I almost choked then. It wasn't fair, that one little child should be able to pull apart my past actions with such accuracy, and such lack of judgement on what I did to that man. "A little bit like that."

"So she didn't like him, really?"

I couldn't fault his confusion, but then…adult relationships are rarely as black and white as they are portrayed in some fairytales. "Not in a way that meant she wanted to marry him, Satoshi. But she liked him as a friend, because even though he was cold and not easy to talk to at first, with time he became warmer. He would say hello to her as they passed in the halls, and sometimes he would stop her to talk. He had never done that for anyone else before. And sometimes their conversations were not about work like they were in the beginning. He would ask her what she liked to do in her free time. She would tell him about her garden and her dried flowers. When she asked him what he liked to do, he would tell her about the scientific journals he liked to read and the places he liked to walk sometimes. She found that he liked winter best of all the seasons while she liked spring."

"Did they like any of the same things?"

"No, but that did not stop her from liking him as a friend. But she noticed that even with her presence, he did not seem very interested in his work. This bothered her for two reasons. The first was because if he did not work as hard as he could, Otouto might not get better. The second was because she was beginning to like him as a person. She thought maybe she could help him find a way to talk to lots of new people and make friends. She just liked the idea that the Clockwork Professor would one day be able to laugh the way she and Otouto liked to do."

Satoshi smiled at this. "The Clockwork Professor never laughed?" His disbelief was nearly palpable.

"He didn't know how," I said gently, even as Satoshi looked ever more sceptical. "It is not really so strange. All of his life he had never known anyone who wanted to make him laugh, and so he never learned. Neesan realised this, and so she wanted to help him.

"So, one day, Neesan invited the Clockwork Professor over to her house. She thought that maybe he would be able to talk more if everyone wasn't looking at him funny."

"Why was everyone looking at him funny?"

Sometimes children can be so perceptive, and other times…the subtleties of human interaction go way above their heads. I miss that innocence in myself, sometimes. "When he talked to Neesan, other people talked about him. Because it was strange, you know? And they wondered why he would talk to Neesan and nobody else…and so he did not talk so much even with Neesan because he was worried they were listening."

I could see Satoshi did not understand this, so I brushed it off. "Don't worry about it, Satoshi. Neesan invited the Clockwork Professor over to tea one snowy afternoon. It was when the snow was beginning to melt and spring was coming on. She thought this was strange. It was because his favourite season was becoming her favourite season. Her hope was that this was a good sign, that it meant he would become more like her one day. That he would make friends and laugh and be happier.

"They were having tea together when Neesan heard a strange noise. She ran to see what it was, but she did not see that the Clockwork Professor had followed her. As Neesan stood in the greenhouse, telling Otouto to go back to bed, she turned around to see him watching them both. His eyes were very wide and he seemed so surprised."

"Why, grandma?"

"Because it was obvious how much she loved him," I told him simply. "Neesan told Otouto to go back to bed because he was sick and she didn't want him to be ill. This made her so sad she was going to cry, and…and the Clockwork Professor saw this. Up until that point in his life, he had never known that people could love each other so much it made them cry."

Satoshi was, this time, silent.

I paused a moment before continuing. "Neesan excused herself because she felt that she might cry in front of the Clockwork Professor, and she did not want to. It would have been…embarrassing. But as she walked out, she heard Otouto talk to the Professor. He told him that he was happy to meet him, and that Neesan had come to the school to meet him. Both of these things surprised him very much though Neesan would not know this for a long time."

"Did Neesan really want to meet the Clockwork Professor?" Satoshi sounded surprised, and I did not blame him in the slightest. "I thought she didn't like him."

"She did, but just…just not in the way that would make her want to marry him." My throat felt thick, my eyes scratchy with salt. "She wanted to meet him because she had heard he could maybe save Otouto. And she wanted someone to save Otouto more than anything else in the world."

"I think Neesan was a very good person, then."

"She wanted to be," and once again I had to fight back the tears. "As time went by, Neesan noticed that the Clockwork Professor and Otouto had become very good friends. Neesan had told the Clockwork Professor about how sick Otouto was, and how she wished for him to get better. She told him that she hoped the project that they were working on would be able to do that. He told her that it probably wouldn't. And yet, as he spent more time at Neesan's house, playing games and talking with Otouto, he worked harder on the project than ever before. He talked to Neesan a lot at work, and he was even seen to laugh. What he laughed at was strange, sometimes, but it was even stranger that he laughed at all. Neesan thought this was a good thing."

Satoshi picked up easily on the way my voice trailed off. "It _was_ a good thing, wasn't it, grandma?"

I sighed. Too many memories, and too many feelings. "Yes. It was a good thing. But there was another man who wanted the project to succeed. His name was--"

"The Rijichou," Satoshi supplied immediately. His enthusiasm made me shudder as much as the word itself did. For some reason, I did not like my grandson saying that man's name at all. 

"Yes. The Rijichou. He was an important man, but he was unhappy too. He was important but not important enough. He wished for more power, and it was because of that wish he hired the Clockwork Professor. The Clockwork Professor could give him everything he wanted, which was the world."

Satoshi's eyes were wide – but what child is not fascinated by the villain of any piece? "Why did the Rijichou want the world, grandma?"

"Because the world had been unkind to him before, and he wanted control over it so it couldn't be again."

"How was it unkind to him?"

"…I don't know," I replied, and my answer was honest. What I did not add was the sentiment that I basically did not want to know, either. The man had hurt me and my family enough; he did not deserve my pity. And yet, I knew I would most likely as not give it to him if I truly knew why he was so driven in his desire to have the world at his feet. Or at least, that is what I assume that he wanted most.

"The Rijichou saw Neesan make friends with the Clockwork Professor, and he saw the Clockwork Professor make friends with Otouto. He thought this was a good thing. These friendships meant that the Clockwork Professor worked harder and the project would be finished sooner.

"However, he knew that he needed to use the Clockwork Professor in a bad way, and if…and if the Clockwork Professor was too nice, he would not do what the Rijichou wanted him to do."

"What did he want him to do…?"

There was a stab of pain in my heart at the memory; I could smell the smoke still, feel the heat crisping my hair, clawing at my skin. "He wanted him to burn down the school."

"Why?"

Is there any reason for the atrocities committed at that school, or is it all just a game to him? I don't know. It makes my heart and my head hurt too much to think about it. "Because if the school burned down, the project would be stronger in power. I don't know how, exactly, but the spell the Rijichou wanted to cast needed the smoke and the fire. He wanted the Clockwork Professor to do it so he wouldn't get into trouble." _And because he did not want blood on his own hands_, I added silently in my own mind. I did not bother saying it aloud, though it wasn't from fear that Satoshi wouldn't understand.

It was more from fear that he _would_.

"And so, the Rijichou made a plan. Even though Neesan could not see it, the Rijichou knew that the Clockwork Professor was in love with Neesan. He thought that maybe if the Clockwork Professor saw that Neesan was not in love with him, he would get angry enough to do something bad."

Satoshi's eyes were saucer-round. "Like burn down the school?"

"Yes, exactly like that. And so he waited until the project was nearly finished. Neesan still did not realise that the Clockwork Professor was in love with her, and she was scared. Otouto was getting sicker every day. Even the Clockwork Professor was seen to be worried. Everyone at school thought it was crazy, but the Clockwork Professor had really made friends with Otouto and did not want to see him die. He also did not want to see Neesan cry. And so no-one was happier than the Clockwork Professor the day that the project was finished.

"However, even as he went to talk to Neesan in his happiness, he walked into her office and found her kissing the Rijichou. He was so sad and so upset he ran away before she noticed that she was there. The Rijichou noticed, though. When Neesan asked him why he was smiling, he smiled more and said 'Because your Clockwork Professor saw us kissing.' She then wanted to know why it mattered, and he told her it was because he loved her."

Once again I stopped. This was where it all changed, after all…

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At least do it right once in your life, Tokiko. You owe them both that much, at least.

"At first Neesan thought that was stupid. The Clockwork Professor couldn't love _her…_but when she thought about it, she knew that it was true. He had always treated her like he loved her. She had just been too blind to see it. But first she had to ask somebody else, a person she could trust. Neesan had never liked the Rijichou even though she had let him kiss her. No, she had to ask somebody she knew would know the truth about the Clockwork Professor.

"Neesan went home so quickly and found that Otouto was very, very sick indeed. At first she was so scared that she thought he was dead, but he opened his eyes and smiled at her. She asked him softly if it was true, if the Clockwork Professor really loved her. Otouto laughed a bit. He had always thought Neesan was a little silly, but it was too much for him. He had always known of that love, and he told her so. 

"His eyes went dark when she explained to him why she asked him now. He sighed, and then looked so sad. 'You have to go and tell him the truth before it is too late,' he told her. Confused, she asked him what the truth was.

"'The truth is inside of all of us, but mostly you,' he told her gently. 'Maybe you do not love him. But the truth is that there is somebody who does love him, and if he does this silly thing he will never get to know that person the way he should.'

"She asked him what the silly thing was, feeling very cold inside. But it was too late. Otouto was very sick and he fell into a deep sleep before he could answer her question. Neesan got up and she ran to the school, because she did not know where the Clockwork Professor lived. It was the only place she thought to go. But it was a good idea, for when she got there, she found the Clockwork Professor and the Rijichou talking in front of the school. The Clockwork Professor held a candelabra."

"…what's that, grandma?"

"A very big candle-holder, with lots of candles in it," I said softly. "And all the candles were lit. Frightened, she ran up to him and begged him to stop. He turned around and looked at her, and she could not see his eyes. His glasses were like mirrors and all she could see was herself."

"'Please don't do it!' she cried, and when he asked her why…she told him. She said to him 'I might not love you, but you must realise that there is somebody in the world who will if you let them! You have to realise this because if you don't now, you never will in the future!'

"He laughed at her and asked her why he should believe her. That was when she got angry and shouted 'Even if you don't believe me, you should believe my brother! He was the one who wanted to tell you this, and he would if he wasn't lying in his bed, dying with every breath! If you don't believe me, believe Mamiya – because he believes in you!'"

I stopped shouting then, breathing heavily.

"…grandma," said Satoshi's voice, very quiet in his half-fear at my shouting outburst, "…who is Mamiya…?"

Shaking, I regained my seat with as much composure as I could muster. I found myself needing to swallow compulsively several times before I could speak again. "…Mamiya was Otouto's real name," I said, very softly. "He was such…such a _nice_ boy, and he had liked the Clockwork Professor so much…and he had wanted him to be happy with his Neesan. But he knew that Neesan wouldn't love him…but he still wanted both of them to be happy. He didn't want the Clockwork Professor to do this crazy thing, and Neesan felt it. She no more wanted him to do it than Otouto did.

"The Clockwork Professor felt this…and even though the Rijichou shouted and yelled, he could do nothing. The Rijichou wanted the project for power, you see…his only power over anyone was the dreams and wishes he could give people. He had told the Clockwork Professor that Neesan would love him if he did this crazy thing. And he saw in her eyes then that burning down the school would only make her hate him in the end, even if spells could be used to control her mind.

"Her heart could never be changed, not with wishes.

"And so, the two of them left the Rijichou alone with the candles he could not use himself to burn the school. Neesan cried as they left, and when the Clockwork Professor asked her why, she said 'Because Otouto is still sick.' She was so afraid that he would die…and the Clockwork Professor hugged her. She was so surprised! He hugged her and said 'The project is still finished. Maybe there is still hope.'

"It turned out that he was right. When they returned to the house the Clockwork Professor went to Otouto's room with Neesan and together they knelt beside his bed. He opened his eyes and he smiled to see them together. 'I knew that you would come back, Professor,' he said softly.

"'We are friends, aren't we?' the Clockwork Professor replied just as softly. 'Just as your sister and I are friends. Forever.'

"Otouto smiled and went back to sleep. He recovered not long after, and they all moved away from the school and the Rijichou. Even though the Clockwork Professor and Neesan never married the way Otouto and the Clockwork Professor had wished they would, they stayed friends. After all, that was what made them happy…the simple fact that they could meet anytime they wanted, drink tea, and laugh. It was enough for them all."

I stopped there, startled to feel the tears dripping unheeded down my cheeks.

"Grandma?"

So far away…I wanted to brush away my tears and smile at my grandson, but I felt so far away…

"I'm glad that Neesan did the right thing and helped the Clockwork Professor…"

Why does my heart have to feel this bad?

"And that Otouto got better in the end too, of course."

Is this my punishment, having to relive what I should have done in front of a child who would never know that this was not the way the story had ended at all?

"Grandma Yamoda, why are you crying?" 

I wiped at my eyes with a tissue taken from the box on Satoshi's nightstand, and I sighed even as I smiled at him. "It's a story close to my heart," I said softly, and I leaned over to kiss him goodnight. "And with that, Satoshi-chan, I think that it is high time you went to sleep."

He still seemed unsettled by my tears, but he let me tuck him in without further complaint. "Good night, grandma," he told me as I left his room, lingering for a moment in his doorway.

"I hope you sleep well, Satoshi-chan."

"I will," he told me sleepily. As I closed the door, I heard him offer softly: "It was a very nice story, grandma Yamoda…"

__

If only all stories could be as nice as that one, Satoshi, I thought to myself sadly, hopelessly. _If only…_

I walked down the hallway slowly, my arms wrapped about my upper arms. I did not move far from my grandson's room when I ran across the small spindly table with the exquisite centrepiece. I paused there as I often did, reaching out to by not quite touching what was there.

"…I know you're not really there, Mamiya," I said softly as my fingers lingered just above the surface of the rose sugar-pickle, the vase of dried flowers, "but I can't help but keep going back…"

"Tokiko."

I turned around to find my husband watching me, his dark eyes troubled. I knew he could see the redness of my eyes, of my cheeks. There was no point in hiding it. There wouldn't have been any point even if he hadn't known the significance of my using dried flowers in my arrangements once a year anyway.

"I wish that you would not go there anymore…it only upsets you for the next month or even longer."

"I won't go back." I said this automatically, without thinking. I think he knew that I was lying…in fact, I am fairly sure that he knew I was…but he did not say so. Rather, he sighed, took me by the hand, and led me to our room so that I might get some sleep.

Yes, I think we both understood very well at that point that nothing, not even the fleeting glimpse of Nemuro himself, could keep me from going back to that grave, to that school. Even the most tenuous link is the next best thing to not having that person there in the flesh. I think that is the true tragedy of having a heart…the fact that it can break a million times, and still not be able to let those closest to it go. In some ways I am jealous of the man Nemuro was before Mamiya and I met him...

…and I sympathise with the man that I hope that he became and stayed, no matter what I fear from the things Ohtori Akio said to me that night. No matter what, it is better to have a heart that can be broken than to not have one at all. 

*****


End file.
